


A novel idea

by gemothy



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Sybil probably left this one out on purpose, background Sam/Sybil/Havelock, terrible romance novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 16:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13685202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemothy/pseuds/gemothy
Summary: Why go to bed with a good book when you can wake up with a bad one?





	A novel idea

Sam Vimes awoke to the sensation of someone else’s hand gently drifting through his hair. He would have assumed it was Sybil’s, except that the warm body next to his wasn’t on her side of the bed. So who…?

Memory soon joined consciousness and Sam recalled the previous evening. Ah yes. Sybil had invited the Patrician round for dinner, and things had… escalated somewhat, as they tended to do these days. Sam opened one eye and peered at Vetinari.[1]

“Wh’Syb’l?”

“Gone to sort out an egg-bound dragon. I must confess, I stopped listening at that point, it sounded highly unpleasant.”

Sam snorted. The hand left his hair and there was a faint sound of pages turning. He rolled over, now fully awake.

“Are you reading? It’s far too early in the day for that, it must be… erm…”

“About half-past six,” said Vetinari. “And yes, I am.”

“Gods. It’s not work, is it? It’s bloody Octeday, even we don’t need to be doing paperwork at this hour.”

Sam found himself on the receiving end of one of the Patrician’s famous Looks, which was significantly less effective in their current circumstances.[2]

“No. It is very much _not work._ ”

“So what is it then, one of Sybil’s horrible novels?”

Silence. Sam looked up at the cover of the book, which was called ‘An Officer and a Gentleman’. He looked up a little more and there was Vetinari, not quite smiling, but definitely _twinkling_ at him. That bastard.

“Fucksake. They’re not even good, she only keeps them around so she can laugh at them.”

Vetinari turned another page. “I can see why. I doubt this one would be good for anything else, I can’t imagine there’s much of a market for romance novels about middle-aged politicians.”

“...What.”

“What?”

Sam scowled. “That bloody book is about us. I know it is. You’re reading about yourself, you arrogant-”

“Actually,” said Vetinari swiftly, “I was reading about _you_. Unfortunately, however, the author has much less knowledge of your person than Sybil and I have, and seems to have included a number of obvious mistakes.”

“I should bloody well hope so,” said Sam. “Otherwise I’d think one of you two had written it.” He hauled himself up to peer over Vetinari’s shoulder. “Go on then, let’s have a look.”

Vetinari passed the book to Sam without a word and quickly looked away- he was clearly trying not to laugh, and was nowhere near as successful as he usually was back in the Oblong Office[3]. Sam flicked through the previous few pages; nothing too weird, thank goodness, but the writing was horrible. And then, finally, he could no longer help himself.

“Ruggedly handsome? Really? I’ve had my nose broken twice and I’m greyer than Reg Shoe. _Ruggedly handsome._ Fuck me, that’s dreadful.”

“It certainly isn’t how I would have described you, no. They’ve barely even mentioned your legs other than to acknowledge that they exist. Sybil was terribly disappointed by that, she thinks they’re worthy of high praise.”

“Not like yours, eh?” Sam grinned. “Yours are like someone tied knots in two bits of string.”

“Oh yes, that was another thing,” said Vetinari. “They completely forgot to mention how incredibly rude you are.”

“That’s implied. Says here I’m- hang on-” Sam turned back a couple of pages. “Yeah, I’m a tough, gritty cop from the wrong side of town. That’s romance novel speak for ‘swears too much and never smiles’.”

“Hm. Perhaps the author has done more research than I thought.”

“Nah. You ought to see what they’re saying about _you_.”

Vetinari sighed. “I dread to think. Still, I doubt it’s any worse than the things I get in the post. Go on.”

“Well, for a start, you’re definitely not this bendy- not with your leg the way it is.”

“...I _walk with a cane_.”

“I know,” said Sam. “I think they might be a bit mental to be honest, they seem to think you came out of that one entirely unscathed. Not that me ‘n Sybil mind that you didn’t.” He slipped a hand under the covers to trace fingertips over the gonne scars on Vetinari’s thigh, and when he felt the other man shift to give him room to explore further, well, that was fine by him.

“You know,” said Vetinari, his voice now almost a purr, “That writer did have _some_ good ideas.”

“I didn’t see any. Looks like you’ll have to prove it.”

Sam threw the awful book aside and quickly forgot all about it[4]. Sometimes it was better to make your own story.

* * *

[1] ‘Havelock’ was, as yet, still reserved for times when they were a little... _busier_. Sam didn’t want to make this any weirder than it already was.

[2] Those circumstances were as follows: a) it was _half-past six in the bloody morning_ b) Vetinari had not yet shaved or combed his hair c) neither of them was wearing any clothes.

[3] His shoulders were shaking. You can’t hide that with a conveniently-timed thoughtful beard-stroke.

[4] Until he got out of bed later on and tripped over it, that is.


End file.
